


V.R.

by exchequered (kesterstjohn)



Category: Eye Candy (TV)
Genre: Fantasizing, Multi, Technology
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-08
Updated: 2018-05-08
Packaged: 2019-05-04 00:31:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14581014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kesterstjohn/pseuds/exchequered
Summary: Tommy meets his match. Twice.





	V.R.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sandrine Shaw (Sandrine)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sandrine/gifts).



“In case you didn’t hear it the last three times, this is a really bad idea.” Tommy recognises the tone in his voice as hope against all the odds. By now he should’ve reached resignation, but there’s something about Lindy that makes him keep trying. “Really bad,” he adds again for emphasis.

She doesn’t quite ignore him, which is an improvement on the last three times when she’d blanked him completely. Instead she leans forward and adjusts the rear-view mirror, unclips her seatbelt, and takes a lipstick from the tiny purse slung around her shoulders.

Tommy glances at it. The purse isn’t big enough to fit a miniature can of mace, let alone a taser. She’s going in unprotected. He’s gonna be worried all damn night.

“You could’ve said no. Catherine would’ve been okay with it.” Like hell she would, but a bit of judicious lying never hurt anyone.

Catherine Shaw hadn’t made it to the top of the Cyber Crimes Unit without knowing how to use people. Right now, Lindy is her prize possession, the ace in the hole. Having a former hacktivist on side is a gift that’ll keep on giving way past Christmas.

Lindy touches up her lipstick. It’s already perfect. The lid clicks back on; she closes the purse with a snap. “Why would I say no? This is an opportunity to find out what happened to my sister.” Her eyes are dark, unreadable, her jaw set. “What happened _after_. When she vanished a second time. Someone out there knows where she is.”

She flips the mirror back into place, using more force than necessary. 

He chooses his words carefully. “We don’t know that they’ll be attending this con, though. Lindy…” Tommy puts a hand to the back of her headrest, trying hard not to touch her glossy, fragrant-scented hair, “I don’t want you to get your hopes up. This whole thing could be a bust. You don’t have to put yourself in harm’s way.”

Her laughter rings around the confined space of his car. Another memory for him to file away, alongside her light floral perfume and the warmth of her body so close to his, the enticing view of her bare thigh the other side of the gearbox.

“Really, Detective? You honestly think I’ll be in harm’s way?” Her laughter turns throaty; she’s almost mocking him. “Let me tell you something. The moment I walk into FutureTec, I’ll be amongst my people. Coders and programmers, hackers and geeks. I’ll feel a hell of a lot safer in there.”

Tommy winces at the implication that she doesn’t feel safe with him. Or maybe it’s the CCU she doubts. Either way, it doesn’t look good for his chances.

He rasps a hand through the stubble on his cheeks. “Okay,” he says, dragging his mind back to the professionalism it only occasionally seems to recognise where Lindy Sampson is concerned, “let’s run through this again.”

She sighs. Her breasts push at the tight bodice of the outfit she’s wearing.

He can’t help it; he lets his gaze linger, mouth going dry. _Professionalism_ , he reminds himself. _Yeah. That_.

Lindy tosses her head, dark hair flicking. A strand catches across the shiny gloss on her lips. She brushes it away; only her eyes betray her impatience. “CCU believes the FutureTec con is a front for the buying and selling of black market AIs and tech.” She repeats the mission brief as if by rote, then her voice changes, becomes more passionate: “Since Babylon shut down, hackers are less inclined to put their faith in the Dark Web. Blame the millennials, I guess, for insisting on authentic experiences, but the new breed of hacker wants to get up close and personal with the equipment before they open up their bitcoin wallets. Try before you buy.” Her mouth twists. “It’s precisely because these cons have become havens for ex-Babylon users that I’m sure I’ll find a lead on Sara.”

Tommy has been a cop long enough to know that deviating from the plan is when it all goes to shit. Somehow he has to get that message through to her. “Lindy,” he says, “our aim today is purely recon and intel gathering. In your guise as a Gamer Girl, you’ll encourage suspects to download a mobile game that’ll enable us to track their whereabouts.”

A smirk curves her lips. “Oh, I think I can manage that.”

“And if you see any of the individuals from our Most Wanted list—”

“I’ll call you immediately. Sure.” She smooths the laces flat on her bodice, drawing his attention to her curves, to her flat belly, to the shiny wet-look satin of her leggings with the cut-outs. There’s the flash of a silver stiletto heel as she shifts position, reaching for the door handle. Her smile flashes, just as sharp. “Gotta go. Job to do and all that.” She pauses, one foot on the pavement outside, and gives him a level look. “Don’t forget, Detective. Wait for my signal.”

“Yeah. I got it covered.” Tommy taps his earpiece.

She shuts the door behind her and walks away, just enough sway in her step for the sunlight to catch on the satin-clad cheeks of her behind.

Tommy groans. The arousal that’s always at a simmer whenever he’s around Lindy threatens to burst into flame. Goddamn it, he shouldn’t have feelings for Ben’s girl… and yet, he’d seen her first. He’d been the one to set up the op to reel her in, to hook her to him so she’d betray Bubonic to the CCU. Instead, Ben had come over all white knight and got to her first.

Jealousy is a bad look on him, Tommy knows. His hands clench into fists. Ben had been his best friend. Any rivalry between them had been of the playful kind—until Lindy. How the hell can he compete with Ben, a guy who’d given his life to protect her? Why can’t he accept that, to Lindy, he’s just some asshole cop intent on giving her a hard time?

“Hope springs eternal,” he tells himself, relaxing his hands and resting them on the steering wheel.

“I’m in,” Lindy says in his ear, and he sits up.

The comms are one-way; he can hear her but she can’t hear him. It’s a kind of torture, hearing brief snatches of conversation as she makes her way through the stalls and demo spaces of the convention centre. Some of the comments she’s receiving are outrageous—well, her outfit _is_ designed to catch attention—but Lindy knocks back any guy too eager to get too close. If any of the tech geeks are in any doubt about her capabilities as a coder, she soon disabuses them.

Tommy zones out when she starts talking technical with one guy. She’s halfway through the conversation when the comms go dead. It’s so sudden he gets an earful of static whine before he yanks out the earpiece. Cautiously he tries other frequencies, but there’s nothing. Just the hiss of feedback, the desolation of white noise.

Something’s jamming the comms. It could be temporary, a demonstration of a piece of hardware—or it could be something more serious.

He’s not willing to hang about to find out.

Tommy gets out of the car, pulling his gun as he jogs across the road towards the convention centre. Lindy’s alone in there, and he’s gonna save her.

*

She doesn’t need saving.

There’s nothing wrong when he runs in, and Tommy slows to a saunter and holsters his weapon. He scans the aisles, gaze jumping from one booth to the next, looking for Lindy, looking for danger, looking for anything out of place.

It’s a FutureTec con. _Everything_ looks out of place.

Now he wishes he’d called in Yeager for back-up. He lifts a hand to his ear to check if the comms are still down, then remembers tossing the damn thing aside. It’s still in his car. Just peachy. He’ll have to do this the old-fashioned way.

He feigns interest in an educational game app, but moves on when one of the development team steps forward to talk to him. Keeping his progress measured, he strolls past the booths and glances down aisles, bumping shoulders with coders and nerds and government flunkeys all keen to see the latest tech.

There’s a carnival atmosphere, a babble of conversation in several languages, including binary, if he’s hearing right. In the centre of the hall is a fenced-off area laid with fake grass, with tables and chairs painted in pastel colours. Food is on sale, a taco stall, a burger stand, a humanoid robot with a lazy susan skirt slowly rotating to offer up packaged sushi fresh from the innards of the robot.

The sizzle of meat and the greasy smell turn Tommy’s stomach. He passes a bar manned by what looks like a swarm of dustbusters—they only seem capable of serving shots of vodka—and makes his way towards the Gamer Girl stand. A number of pretty young women in revealing outfits make smalltalk with the flock of geeks hanging around them, but he can’t see Lindy.

He does notice a Gamer Guy, however. Sauce for the goose as well as the gander. Tommy checks out the man’s abs and then his ass, displayed to advantage in a pair of tight shorts. He’s an equal opportunities kind of guy like that.

Moving on, he notices a booth draped in pink. Several women, including a Gamer Girl, are huddled around a table. Shrieks of laughter punctuate the demonstration. Tommy peers over the top of their heads and blinks at the range of AI vibrators with built-in cameras. Cameras? He doesn’t want to know why. DIY colonoscopy, maybe?

Hurrying his pace, he takes in the latest in driverless cars, in automated therapists, in toilet-cleaning robots… None of this looks remotely threatening. Which makes it the ideal place to sell illegal tech. Hiding in plain sight. No one would look twice at a toilet-cleaning robot.

They would, however, look twice at Lindy.

There’s a crowd around her, drawn like moths to the brilliance of her smile. Her laughter is warm and intimate and entirely natural. Now she’s out of the cramped quarters of his car, Tommy gets the full effect of her outfit. Her legs go on forever, and the nip of her waist, the curve of her hips… It oughtta be illegal. She’s wearing a bandolier across her body, the shiny leather strap brushing her breasts and caressing the bare skin of her thigh peeping through the cut-outs in her leggings.

She’s a fantasy made flesh. Tommy can’t blame the slavering horde flitting around her. Lindy is way out of their league. Way out of _his_ league, too.

He reins in his overheated thoughts. _Gotta calm down. She’s not just a pretty face_.

The reminder is ironic. The way she looks, the difference between that and what she did—what she _does_ —is what got him into this in the first place. It’s what got Ben killed. Tommy sets his jaw and stalks towards her, scattering geeks and nerds in his path.

Lindy sees him coming and does that thing with her head, swinging her hair over one shoulder and looking at him with a big smile on her lips and wariness in her eyes. Then one of her admirers steals her attention away, and she’s smiling at someone else, fending off personal questions and slipping in references to half a dozen tech companies, promoting the Gamer Girl brand with casual ease as she hands out business cards.

None of this was in the plan.

Tommy steps around her. “What are you doing? You’re not exactly questioning these guys.” He throws a furious look at a bespectacled man in an orange hoodie who backs away, clutching the card Lindy had just handed over as if it was the Holy Grail. “Look at that poor sap, his glasses practically steamed up when you smiled at him.”

“Jealous, Detective?” She glances at him over her shoulder, her eyebrows arching.

He doesn’t trust himself to answer. Clumsily he changes the subject, his leather jacket creaking as he folds his arms. “You shouldn’t advertise that I’m a cop.”

“Who needs the advertisement? You’re kind of obvious.” Lindy bestows another melting smile on another guy, handing him a card from the bandolier. This one comes from the leather pocket closest to her breasts. The guy audibly gulps, his fingers gripped convulsively around the card as he walks away.

“What about the plan? The mobile game—”

“Relax. This is much better.” She slips a card from the bandolier—from one of the pockets at her waist, this time—and trails it through the air beneath Tommy’s nose. “This is premium quality card stock, so thick and luxurious you’d never know there was a tracker sandwiched inside. Experimental nanotech, the best in the business. Any of these guys calls the number, writes to the email address, or visits the website, we can access their phone or hard drive without any sign of detection.”

Tommy stares. “Where did you get that kind of tech?”

“Friend of a friend,” she says vaguely. “You two should meet.” She waves over a guy from a neighbouring booth. “Tommy, meet Charlie. Charlie, this is Detective Tommy Calligan.”

They shake hands. Tommy eyes Charlie with interest. It’s funny, but there’s something about him… He’s not Tommy’s usual type, being too average in height and too skinny in build, and he’s just kinda… _ordinary_. Except for the curly chestnut hair, which makes him look cute, and the piercing blue eyes, which make him look like a man you wouldn’t want to cross.

But still, there’s _something_ about him. Something in the way Charlie tips his head. Something about his voice when he says hello. Tommy holds onto his hand a little too long. “Have we met before?”

“It’s possible.” Charlie slides free with a deft movement. “I meet a lot of people. And I have one of those faces.”

“Yeah. You do.” Tommy studies him again, trying to nail down the nagging sense of partial recognition.

“Charlie’s a popular guy,” Lindy says, twinkling up at him, nudging her bare arm against Charlie’s shirtfront in a playful gesture.

Jealousy flares in Tommy’s gut. Or maybe it was that muffin he’d eaten earlier. Should never buy baked goods from a gas station. “So, what’s the deal? Nanotech is pricey stuff. What’s your reason for helping out?”

“Lindy and I have mutual friends in common,” Charlie says, polite and amiable. “Mutual losses, too. I only hope that my small contribution to Lindy’s quest will result in her sister’s safe return.” He places a comforting hand on Lindy’s shoulder.

She gives him a brief smile, nodding her acknowledgement of his words.

“Also,” Charlie continues, a gleam in his eyes that’s impossible to read, “I like to think I’m civic-minded. Speaking of which, the Socratic principle of dialogue should be applied to big tech, don’t you agree?”

Tommy shrugs. “I agree that some of those companies need to be held accountable.”

Disappointment tugs at the corners of Charlie’s mouth; he tuts. “I’m not talking about the way they dodge paying their taxes, Detective, though I appreciate why that would be of especial concern to a law enforcement officer…”

“I wasn’t just talking about tax, either,” Tommy says, annoyed that this guy put words in his mouth. “Big tech should be socially responsible, too. And transparent.”

“Buzzwords.” Charlie tips his head to one side, like a starling on a lawn listening for a worm to turn. “I believe one should engage in Socratic dialogue with those companies in order to make them see the error of their ways. Accountability is so important these days, and yet it’s pushed aside, trampled over, in favour of profit margins and internal targets. We risk losing our humanity, Detective Calligan. I intend to force big tech to take its responsibilities seriously.”

“That’s great.” The conversation is kinda beyond him, but Tommy doesn’t give up so easily. He dredges a memory from college, where his roommate had majored in Philosophy with a minor in growing weed on the dorm roof. “Wasn’t Socrates put to death for his arguments?”

Irritation flickers beneath Charlie’s smooth expression. “Dialogues, Detective, not arguments. One is to persuade, the other is to expose weakness.”

“Okay.” He’s had enough of this. Tommy glances at Lindy, who looks amused. Of course. What woman wouldn’t enjoy having two guys fight to impress her with the size of their brains? He runs a hand through his hair and lets his gaze wander around the con. “So, uh, apart from all that, what’s your business here? The toilet-cleaning robot?”

A twitch of those lips, almost but not quite a smile. “Nothing so ordinary. I’m demonstrating the prototype of a virtual reality device.”

“Really. That isn’t yesterday’s news?”

“Not the way I’ve developed it.” Now Charlie’s smiling one of those Cheshire Cat smiles. “I’ve come up with something unique. Guaranteed to provide an experience that’ll blow your mind.”

Tommy laughs. He’s always thought there was something intrinsically sad about virtual reality. There’d been enough of it for sale on Babylon, but he’d never understood the appeal. Virtual reality was about surrendering control, and that wasn’t for him.

“You don’t believe me?” Charlie feigns a wounded look, and again there’s the niggling echo of memory, the certainty that, somehow, Tommy knows this guy. “Oh, but you should give it a try.”

“I’m working.”

Charlie moves closer, enough for Tommy to be pinned by blue eyes. “Just a few minutes.” His voice drops, becomes intimate. Coaxing. “My booth is just over there. You’ll be in and out in less than ten minutes.”

It sounds faintly obscene. Tommy wavers. He should refuse, but it’s rapidly becoming a pride thing. And then there’s Lindy, looking at him with a challenging smile. Charlie wears the same smirk. Like they know he’s afraid of losing control. It stings, their lack of faith in him.

“Okay. But only for five minutes.”

Lindy smiles her approval, then turns away to hand out more nano-tagged cards. Tommy feels momentarily bereft, then Charlie takes his arm and leads him across to the booth. A blackout curtain is whisked aside, and he’s ushered into the small space.

The walls are black, and the ceiling. By the blue glow of a single bulb, Tommy notices what look like studs arranged at intervals all around the booth. Must be something to help with the VR, he guesses. He stands still as directed and lets Charlie fit a headset on him. It’s nothing like the Marvel-hero type headsets he’s seen before. Instead it looks like it’s built out of Meccano, with electrodes nuzzling through his hair to make contact with his scalp, and the goggles are like a child’s toy from the 80s.

Charlie’s fingers brush his face as he adjusts the fit of the goggles. Tommy strains to see anything on the screen. His hearing sharpens and his pulse picks up. A skittering of anticipation runs through his veins.

“There you go, Detective.” Charlie steps back, and the booth is plunged into darkness. “Enjoy yourself.”

*

Night is all around him. Darkness, complete and impenetrable. Tommy’s breathing quickens. Heat prickles over his skin. He flexes his hands, and there’s a stirring on the screen in front of his eyes. He looks deeper, chasing the suggestion of movement, and then he’s falling. Physically, metaphorically—he doesn’t know. The booth has vanished, and he feels suspended, adrift in warm darkness.

He’s outside of his body. He’s in space. Lights burst across his vision. Scent rises, a light floral perfume on a woman’s skin. Lindy’s skin. He sucks in a breath, hands out as if he can find her, touch her. Tommy turns and turns again. A jolt brings him up short. Has he fallen so far he’s hit the ground? But no—this surface is soft.

He opens his eyes. The darkness has lifted; glimmers of light pass through, artful and elegant as they trace Lindy’s smooth limbs and tempting curves. She beckons him, laughing, smiling, eyes flashing with promise. Her clothes, filmy drapes of white fabric, fall away, dissolve like mist.

She’s on a bed. Naked. He joins her. They kiss, mouths fusing, heat building. It’s real. She’s his. Lindy, her arms open to hold him, her legs wrapping around his hips. He can smell her. Taste her. His clothes have gone, and his gun, and he’s losing himself in her. She’s everything he ever imagined and more.

He drives into her. She cries out, arches her back. The delicate skin between her breasts is dewed with sweat. He runs his tongue over her throat. Salt-sweet. Damp.

She laughs as the mattress dips beneath the weight of a third person. Tommy begins to lift his head, but she presses him back down. His hips churn, climax gathering at the base of his spine. He wants her to come first, but she’s distracted by the other person. The other man. Is it Ben? He couldn’t bear it if it was.

A hand cups his ass. Tommy jerks forward, deeper inside Lindy. She moans in appreciation and strokes his face. Except it’s not her hand, it’s a man’s hand. Tommy takes it in his mouth and sucks on the fingers. Not Ben. Someone else. A different taste.

They’re both touching him, inquisitive and demanding. He doesn’t know who he’s fucking. Maybe they’re fucking him, or each other. Tommy’s mind blurs. All is pleasure, all is sensation. He surrenders himself to it, inhibitions dropping away as the need to come beats in his brain.

The scrape of leather over his shoulder. Heat against his naked back. Bright blue eyes and chestnut curls and a knowing smirk beneath a black plague doctor’s mask.

Tommy opens his mouth. “Bubonic,” he croaks, and then he’s coming, a vicious blissful rush that leaves him wrung out and shuddering and alone in a bed that’s not real.

He tears off the headset. Rips off the electrodes. His body hums with the aftermath of orgasm. He’s creamed himself, the crotch of his jeans hot and wet. Anger batters against a host of other emotions he doesn’t want to name as he blunders around in the dark, looking for a way out.

Charlie’s—no, _Bubonic_ ’s voice slithers out of the blackness. “Well now, Detective Calligan. You can’t say you didn’t get a rise out of that.”

Tommy aims a kick at where he thinks the headset is, but his foot doesn’t connect. “You manipulated me.”

“Not at all.” Bubonic sounds smug. “I won’t bore you with the technical detail, but in essence, it works by reading the impulses straight from your brain. It lifts out your fantasies and makes them real. Or almost real.”

His mouth goes dry. Tommy sputters. “I would never—”

“Would you not?” There’s a mocking edge to Bubonic’s ticklish tone. “Oh, Detective. You don’t have to pretend to be ashamed. I can read your mind.”

The idea of it is so terrifying, Tommy has to turn his head upside down and feel over every inch of his scalp. With every heartbeat he’s certain he’ll find a stray electrode digging its way into his head, rooting through his brain. But there’s nothing, and when he straightens again, he’s flushed and panting and more angry than humiliated.

He stares around the inky darkness. “Quit playing with me.”

“Why? You like it.”

Yeah no, he’s not dignifying that with a response. “Where’s Lindy?”

“Outside. Doing the job you sent her here to do.” Now Bubonic sounds musing. “She’s something, isn’t she? I can understand why you crave her so badly. Just as I can understand why you want me. Different impulse, of course; but still, to take the form of actual sexual need… I’m flattered.”

The breath hitches in Tommy’s throat. “I only want you behind bars.”

“Kinky. I like it.” The soft chuckle fills the warm, dark space. “But don’t let me keep you, Detective. You’ve given me a lot to think about.”

The blackout curtain is pulled aside by mechanical means. Light pours in. Dazed, Tommy stumbles out, shielding his eyes with one hand and frantically pulling his jacket across his damp crotch with the other.

He checks his watch. As promised, he was in there less than ten minutes. Lindy is still giving out the doctored business cards. He reels towards her, still shell-shocked, and she gives him a look, direct and to the point but also a little bit curious.

Of course. She knows _exactly_ what just happened in there. Tommy wets his lips with his tongue and tries to find adequate words. Instead he says, “Why?”

She tosses her hair over one bare shoulder, cool as anything. Her head is tilted to a proud angle, and beneath the slick gloss of her lipstick her mouth tightens into a line. “Because you lied to me.” Anger flashes in her eyes; she looks magnificent. “Ben tried to protect me, and Catherine gave me hope. But you… You made a fool of me, Tommy.”

Her gaze drops to the front of his jeans. She relaxes, a smile flickering across her face. “I guess we’re equal now.”

He swallows, both humbled and admiring. “Guess so.”

This should be the part where he turns tail and flees. Instead, he takes a handful of cards from her and starts giving them out. She’s startled, then she smiles, like maybe the admiration is mutual. At length she says, “So, what did you see on Charlie’s VR?”

_You_ , he thinks, and _him_ , but like hell will he ever admit it. He shrugs lightly, leather jacket creaking with the movement. “My greatest wish, I guess.”

“And what’s that?”

Over her shoulder, he sees Charlie. _Bubonic_. They lock gazes, and something hot and confusing passes between them. When he drags his attention back to Lindy, he forces a smile. “Something best forgotten.”


End file.
